


Narrow confines of a sphere

by lbmisscharlie



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Break Up, F/M, Inner Strength, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-14
Updated: 2013-09-14
Packaged: 2017-12-26 12:58:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/966201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lbmisscharlie/pseuds/lbmisscharlie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Her courage is finite sometimes – enough to say <i>no</i> once, or <i>not tonight</i>, or <i>I don’t think we should</i> – but it’s not cowardly to stay with him, it’s just <i>easy</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Narrow confines of a sphere

**Author's Note:**

  * For [what_alchemy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/what_alchemy/gifts).



> Written for my follower prompt fest on tumblr, for [what-alchemy](http://what-alchemy.tumblr.com)'s prompt: _Could I get a Sally dumps Anderson fic? And maybe some unwittingly helpful Sherlock mixed in?_
> 
> Title is from Adrienne Rich's poem "Boundary":  
>  _There's enormity in a hair_  
>  _Enough to lead men not to share_  
>  _Narrow confines of a sphere_

She feels the need, very clearly, to come to a grand, overarching decision. To be final: definitive. _This is what we were. This is what we now are._

_This is what we are not._

Drew likes precision, collections of facts and their resultant suppositions. He likes Sally’s logical mind and teasing grin, her skeptical pragmatism and the way she tastes on his lips. Sometimes, he looks at her like he’s shocked she’s standing next to him, and sometimes she shakes with how much she wants him to look at her like that, all the time. 

He’ll kiss her in the backseat of her car, her taste still on his mouth, his cheeks, and tell her she’s amazing, marvelous, wonderful; he’ll smile at her, sly and knowing, during press conferences, so she has to press the tip of her tongue against the inside of her cheek to keep from losing her train of thought. He does all of this, makes her feel like she deserves all of him, and then he goes home to his wife.

Her courage is finite sometimes – enough to say _no_ once, or _not tonight_ , or _I don’t think we should_ – but it’s not cowardly to stay with him, it’s just _easy_. He’s there; they both have unpredictable hours; she’s fond of him, when he’s not in a peevish temper. He likes her to come first, and he likes that she’s interested in his forensics talk. He works with her but not in competition with her, so the fact that she’s cleverer than him need not come up.

Convenient.

It’d been marginally secret, too, before Sherlock had decided to show off for his new friend. 

All facts, yes; but are they _reasons?_ Her mother had always told her to live life reasonably, and she’s always thought that meant _in moderation_ and chafed against the constricts of what society told her was enough: enough education, enough ambition. Now, though, she wonders if mum meant _with reason._ Because living conveniently is hardly living with purpose.

So: no _it’s not you, it’s me_ , no _I need space._

I don’t want to see you anymore. She practices saying it in the mirror. “I don’t want to see you anymore.” Stress the _see_ ; no, stress the _anymore_. “I don’t want to have sex with you anymore.” More truthful; more direct. “We had fun, but it’s time to stop.”

They meet over the overlapping twenty minutes of their lunch breaks in a café down the street from the station. A back corner table; privacy, though she can tell he anticipates it for a different reason than she intends.

“I think –” she starts, and then stops, bites down hard on her lips to keep her _I think_ s inside. Weak; passive. “We’re breaking up,” she says instead, then cringes. “I mean – I don’t want to see you anymore. Like that.”

Drew’s mouth opens. It doesn’t close, regroup, for a long moment, and she starts to say it again – “I don’t –” before he cuts her off and says, “God, don’t –”

They’re silent for a moment. “Is this because of Holmes – of what he said back in the winter?”

As if her decision was made for her by Holmes’s actions. As if she’s _ashamed_. Nonetheless, her mind calls up another conversation, another flippant remark, one Drew had been absent for. _I would have thought you’d have more ambition_ , Sherlock had said, and Watson had looked at her, then away, hurriedly. Sherlock had strode away, leaving her wondering what he knew of her ambition, then what she knew of it herself.

“No,” she says, forcing herself back to the present. “It’s run its course, is all. Time to move on.” Platitudes, all, but true. She feels stagnant with him, not safe, not comfortable, but inert. 

“And there’s nothing I can say to –”

“No,” Sally says. She resists the urge to cup his still, confused hands, to soften the blow. 

“I –” He looks confused, so Sally looks at her watch and gulps her coffee.

“I really have to get back,” she says, feeling sickeningly cruel. “I really – thank you for taking it well.” Drew looks dazed; she’s not certain if he’s _taking_ it at all, but she has to – has to leave, to breath air untainted by this conversation. He doesn’t say anything else, just blinks, then looks down to his mug. She leaves; she doesn’t look back when she reaches the door, but instead shoves it open, hard against the brisk autumn wind, and hurries down the pavement. 

With purpose.


End file.
